


You can be damn well sure we'll avenge it

by Siempie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant with Infinity War, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Graphic Injury, Mostly hurt tho let's be honest, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, cuddle piles, i cant think of a bettle title sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 01:48:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siempie/pseuds/Siempie
Summary: When the dust settled, those left behind took inventory. They looked at the ashes of those they loved and said "this isn't the end for you. We'll make this right".Differences and arguments be damned. It was time for the Avengers to live up to their name.





	You can be damn well sure we'll avenge it

**Author's Note:**

> So,
> 
> I originally wrote this as a short story to cope with Infinity War. As you can see, it got away from me a little.
> 
> There's so much more I wanted to add, but when it's been a month and you're pushing 13.000 words, it's time to stop before you start hating it and throw it in the trash pit with like 5000 other unfinished WIPs. There's another bit I might add as a seperate chapter, but for now this is what you get.
> 
> alsO this was written before it was fully confirmed who did and didn't die in infinity war, so it's not entirely accurate in that regard, don't yell at me.
> 
> EDIT (27-09-18): Fixed a plot hole.
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS:
> 
> Spoilers for Infinity War  
> Graphic description of injury  
> A lot of crying

Hours had passed when Nebula stopped seeing red.

She remembered flashes of her rage, screaming into the dusty air of a dead planet, throwing rocks into an unforgiving sky, crying tears of grief and sadness and pure, unbridled _hatred_ , before finally coming back to herself with her arm stuck in a wall up to the elbow.

She breathed, in, out, before yanking her arm free and sliding down the wall until she was sitting, her arms around her legs.

They were all gone. Gamora, those idiots she called her friends, the man who had held the Time Stone, the boy...

God, the boy. She saw him in his final moments, watched helplessly as he cried, begging for his life as his body fell to ashes.

She was certain that he would be joining her gallery of ghosts, haunting her for the rest of her cursed existence.

When she finally gathered the strength to stand up, the sun was setting. She dragged herself back to her pod, a comforting numbness draping itself over her emotions like a cool blanket.

She went through the motions of fixing the pod. She'd need a new one, but she could patch this one up enough to make it to the nearest civilized planet. Or what was left of it, at least.

She climbed in, did a full system scan, fired up the engines, and then she saw him. The iron man. The one who coated himself in armor, the remains of which now clung to his body like a broken shell. The only other survivor of Thanos's onslaught.

He had barely moved a muscle after the boy had crumbled to dust in his arms.

Nebula knew she should leave. Thanos was out there somewhere, more powerful than ever, and she had never wanted to kick his goddamned teeth in as much as she did now.

But she'd seen so much death today. She knew that the universe had just lost half its people, that every species that knew the concept of grief was in mourning. So much loss. So many deaths.

She couldn't let another die.

He didn't react in the slightest to her approach. All he did was sit there, on his knees, staring at the ground with his hands pressed against his lips, slowly rocking back and forth. The boy's remains clung to the blood on his hands.

Nebula expected him to put up a fight when she tried to move him, but that didn't happen. He stayed placid as she pushed and pulled until he stood, his eyes wide and unseeing. He wouldn't walk of his own accord, so she placed a hand on his back and pushed him along.

The man stayed practically catatonic as she strapped him into the co-pilot's chair. She had to physically place the bottle at his lips to get him to drink something, and he didn't respond when she asked his name. If he hadn't been breathing, she'd have taken him for dead.

He didn't even react as they took off from Titan, shaking with the motions of the pod as it rattled through the atmosphere.

She knew this man was like Quill. They looked similar at least. An Earthling, a human, whatever they liked to call themselves. Primitive, a civilization that had just taken its first tentative step beyond the confines of their home planet. From what she knew, they hadn't even gotten someone past their own moon yet.

It only took two jumps to get close enough to approach, barely skimming the atmosphere of the system's second planet as they went. No life on this one. Just clouds, acid rain and active volcanoes.

A planet spared from this massacre, untouched by death, as nothing had lived there in the first place. Nebula couldn't help but feel glad.

Earth was the third planet of the system, mostly blue with patches of green, yellow and brown, white at the poles. A single, lonely moon orbited it, round and grey, large for a planet of its size.

She started picking up signals from the planet, simple sound and images projected into space by barely shielded airwaves. It felt like a sucker-punch of emotion, confusion, panic, and most of all, an overwhelming sense of loss.

However, a single signal stood out. It was directed at her specifically, unlike the waves of background noise coming from the suddenly very loud planet. Audio and video. Nebula opened it.

It was a human, a woman, a girl. She looked different from Quill and her current passenger, with deep brown skin and hair that curled so tightly it sprung around her head like a halo. Her dark eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. She barely looked older than the boy who died on Titan.

"Unidentified spacecraft, you are about to enter Earth's atmosphere," she said, her voice hard and choked with tears she'd hastily swallowed back. "State your name and intention, or we will shoot you down."

Nebula doubted Earth even had the capability of that, but she decided not to voice that particular thought. Instead, she looked at the camera. "My name is Nebula," she said, "and I currently have one of your own on board my craft. If you will allow me to land, I will turn him over to you. I have no intention of harming you, your species or your planet."

The girl was silent for a moment as she looked at someone out of view of the screen. Then, she turned back to Nebula and forced a smile.

"Thank you," she said. "You are clear to land. I will send you a flight path and landing co-ordinates."

Nebula nodded. Then, she looked the girl in the eyes. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she said, and she meant it more than anything else she'd ever said in her life.

The girl gave a curt nod as tears bubbled over again, and ended the transmission before Nebula could see her break down.

* * *

Steve Rogers had felt loss before. Of course he had. He'd lost his parents to sickness, lost his comrades to war, then lost everything and everyone to time, an unforgiving force that had just decided to go on without him for a while.

But none of that could have prepared him for the look in Bucky's eyes as his body dissolved. Confusion, dawning horror. Sadness. And maybe just a tinge of relief.

All that Steve could think was that he couldn't even tell the difference between his best friend's ashes and the dirt on the forest floor.

Colonel Rhodes had scraped his hands along where Wanda fell, gathered as much of her as he could. Steve did the same with Bucky, helplessly watching as the wind carried some of the remains away.

A chant came from the battlefield. It was in Wakandan, a language Steve didn't speak, but he heard a name, heard the sobbing and the screaming and he knew. T'Challa was gone. Wakanda had lost another king.

Sam wouldn't answer Rhodes's calls.

* * *

It had been eighteen hours after the end, and the world-wide chaos had simmered down a little. What remained of the world's governments had ordered people to stay home, hold each other close, allow time to grieve. Humanity didn't sleep that night.

Bucky, Wanda and Vision were included in the biggest funeral Wakanda had ever seen. Warriors, civilians, men, women, children, every walk of life, every tribe. No-one had been spared.

They never found Sam's remains.

T'Challa's urn was in the center, surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of others. There hadn't been nearly enough urns for everyone, so some of the deceased had been put into hastily emptied toy chests, mixing bowls, jars and pots and pans. Steve even saw a woman weeping over a teacup.

The newly crowned Queen Shuri led the prayers, tears streaking down her face and sobs wracking her body as she prayed to Bast, the panther-god. Everyone around her said their own prayers, some crying, some numb.

Steve looked at Rhodes's tear-streaked face, and knelt before the lifeless body of Vision, with a hole where his forehead used to be, flanked by two urns holding a pathetically small amount of ashes. He crossed himself, then began to pray to the Holy Maria.

* * *

The pod landed with a thud, and Rocket was the first at the door. As it opened, he looked at the blue-skinned woman in the opening, begging, pleading for her to bring him _something_.

She sighed, averted her gaze, and shook her head.

"Did any of them...?" Rocket whispered.

"I'm sorry," the blue woman said. Then, she turned to Shuri. "He is inside. He got stabbed through the abdomen, he needs medical attention as soon as possible."

The blue woman and Rocket went off to god knows where, presumably to cry or drink or both. Rhodes only paid attention to who was left inside.

He found Tony curled up in the passenger seat, staring blindly ahead. His hands and clothes were covered in dust.

"Hey," Rhodes said, and Tony's head snapped to the side. Their eyes met, and Tony's filled with tears. His head fell against Rhodes's chest, and he was reminded of the first time Tony had gone missing on his watch.

Last seen during an ambush on their transport, Tony was found trouncing around in the desert three months later with a jacket around his head and an arc reactor jammed into his ribcage. Injured, dehydrated, traumatized and completely and utterly exhausted, Tony hadn't even had the strength to hug him, instead just choosing to collapse against his shoulder. He had to be carried into the helicopter.

Now, Tony wouldn't hug him either. Rhodes wrapped his arms around his best friend as said friend burst into hysterical tears, his hands firmly pressed against his chest.

* * *

Tony had thrown a fit when they'd tried to clean him up. He'd refused to show his hands, screamed at anyone who came too close, and generally behaved like a skittish animal. Rhodes was afraid that whatever he'd seen in space had been the final straw, and that Tony Stark had finally lost it.

Shuri had just prepped a sedative when Steve entered the room.

Tony immediately went still, his back against the wall. He stared at Steve, angry, scared, mistrustful.

Steve sat down on the edge of Tony's bed, tired and weary-looking. He sighed deeply, then patted the spot next to him.

Tony didn't move.

"Whose ashes are those?" Steve suddenly asked. His tone didn't hold a hint of accusation.

Tony was silent for a good minute, looking at the ashes on his hands and his clothes, then back at Steve. Then, slowly, step by minuscule step, he moved closer to the bed and sat down next to Steve.

"Peter," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Steve quietly scooted closer to Tony, then wrapped an arm around the smaller man's shoulders. Tony leaned against his chest, too tired and grief-stricken to hate him.

* * *

Stark's surgery took five hours. A seal of nanobots had kept him from bleeding out both internally and externally, but that didn't mean there wasn't any permanent damage. Whatever he had been stabbed with had skewered him completely, with an entrance- and exit wound the size of Okoye's own fist.

The thing had punched a hole right through his kidney, but not before breaking off a piece of rib and stabbing it into his lung. His other kidney nearly failed on the operating table, and his punctured lung had collapsed as soon as the nanobots retreated. He was starving and dehydrated, and his body had been pushed to its limit. The doctors called him lucky when they saw he'd pull through.

Okoye wasn't sure if death would have been the worst outcome.

He spent two days in a deep sleep, artificially induced to give his body time to acclimate to his newly-fixed lung and artificial replacement kidney. He had panicked when he woke up, wheezing and flailing as he stared at his pristine hands and blue hospital gown with wide, horrified eyes. He only calmed down when Okoye handed him the bottle on his nightstand.

It had taken an hour and a half to gather all of the dust that had clung to Stark's body and clothes. Shuri worked hard to make sure she didn't miss a single bit of it, but Okoye was certain she was only distracting herself. If she didn't keep busy, she'd remember her brother, and that memory was too painful to touch.

Stark stared at the small handful of ashes in the bottle in silence. She knew that this wasn't a wound she should prod, that she should allow him time to grieve on his own. But she saw the broken, empty look in his eyes and knew that he needed company. So she sat on the other end of his bed, her spear in her lap. And she asked about the ashes.

Stark talked. He talked with tears streaming down his face like a waterfall, words pouring out between heaving sobs.

He talked about Peter Parker. A boy, seventeen, who jumped and swung and crawled up walls. Superpowered, with a sense of responsibility pushing him to don a spider-suit and fight crime. Brave to the point of recklessness bordering on suicide, he'd snuck onto a spaceship and joined Stark on Titan in the battle against Thanos.

Stark nearly collapsed under the weight of his grief as he talked about the way Peter's voice had cracked as his skin had begun to flake, how he'd cried and begged and nearly crushed Stark in an iron-gripped hug as his body fell to dust.

How his last words had been "I'm sorry."

Okoye was silent as Stark turned the jar in his hands, no more tears left to cry.

She breathed deeply, in and out, then muttered a small prayer under her breath. If Stark heard her, he didn't comment on it.

The lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. And yet, she opened her mouth, and talked about T'Challa.

The brave little boy she'd seen grow up into a wise and noble man. The prince who suddenly became king, his father ripped away so soon. How he'd faced an attempted coup in his first week as ruler and nearly died. How he felt such remorse for the would-be king who died beside him that he opened Wakanda's borders, shared their tech with the rest of the world.

How he'd stood beside her in battle. How he'd urged her to stand up, told her that this was no place to die even as his hands dissolved.

How she hadn't realized how much she'd miss him once he was gone.

They sat in silence until the shift change. She stood up, gathered her spear and wiped her tears before striding out of the room.

"What's your name?" Stark suddenly asked, making her halt in her tracks.

"Okoye," she said after a long silence.

"Okoye," he repeated, her name warped and strange around his American accent. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Stark."

"Call me Tony. Please."

The corner of Okoye's mouth twitched up in the ghost of a smile as she left the room.

* * *

They departed from Wakanda two days after Tony woke up, taking the ashes and Vision's body with them into the Quinjet. Queen Shuri waved them off, with Okoye and the other Dora Milaje at her side.

As what was left of the Avengers landed at the compound, they ran into trouble. Army vans parked outside, soldiers all over the premises, Ross and his goons in the commons room. Everything had been prepared for a fight.

However, they had been preparing for a battle with someone like Captain America, the Hulk or Scarlet Witch.

They had not been prepared for the terrifying force of nature that was an injured, grieving, sleep-deprived, and absolutely _fuming_ Anthony Edward Stark.

Tony never even thought about touching the Iron Man-armor. Instead, he screamed and seethed and cursed every single person in a twenty-mile radius who had dared to put on a camo-suit that morning. He spewed a stream of threats and insults so creative they would have made the toughest drill sergeant blush, and the amount of foul language that came out of his mouth would have made a dockworker sound like a priest by comparison. Ross couldn't get a word in edgewise, as every time he opened his mouth, Tony would find a new projectile to fling at his head.

After twenty minutes, two coffee cups, five plates and a flower pot (plus flower), Ross and his goons decided to call it quits.

As soon as FRIDAY notified them of the fact that the last jeeps had left the premises, Tony let himself fall onto the couch, looking more relaxed than he had in days.

"God, I needed that," he sighed.

* * *

No-one slept that night.

After the emotional wreckage that had been left behind by Thanos, everyone felt empty and numb, unsure if they'd ever feel anything ever again.

So they decided that this was a good moment to work through their differences.

It took five pots of coffee, a talk that lasted until the ass-crack of dawn and two more shattered mugs courtesy of Tony (plus one because Thor's hands shook so badly he'd dropped one) for them to talk everything through. Everyone was too spent to do anything else after, so Steve, Rhodey and Thor raided the bedrooms for blankets and pillows while Tony, Natasha and Bruce turned the sitting corner into a big nest.

Dozing in a big pile with people he had only just gotten back on speaking terms with was not the direction Tony had expected this crazy rollercoaster of a week to go, but it felt worth it.

* * *

Pepper was alive, and Tony smiled properly for the first time since his return from Titan when she showed up on the doorstep. They sat together in the living room slash blanket pile nobody had cleaned up, murmuring soft words and holding each other close. The others gave them space, letting them anchor each other.

That ended when Pepper's shirt had started to come off, and Bruce had to hastily shoo them to a private room.

Clint called, and Natasha waited until the call ended before quietly starting to cry, burying her face in Bruce's chest. Little Nathaniel had faded away in his mother's arms. He'd been one of the first to go.

When Scott Lang showed up at the door in the Ant-Man suit with a woman in a similar suit next to him, both with red-rimmed eyes and steely faces, they were let in without question.

That night, they talked about the people they'd lost, and cried tears they didn't even know they had left.

The woman - Hope Van Dyne, aka the Wasp - had lost her father. She hadn't even seen him go, just found the pile of dust in his chair when she got home.

Scott had seen videos of the deaths on the internet. He'd sprinted to the living room and held onto his daughter like a vice, murmuring soothing words and empty promises in her hair when little Cassie Lang suddenly crumbled in his arms.

Tony pulled the bottle with Peter's ashes out of his pocket and retold his story. He talked about Stephen Strange as well, an asshole of a wizard who reminded him too much of himself, who had sacrificed the Time Stone - and the universe in turn - to save his life.

Steve talked about Bucky and Sam, how he'd seen Bucky dissolve into ash, barely believing his eyes as he saw his best friend die. How Sam's ashes were still on the ground in Wakanda somewhere.

Thor had lost everything. His hammer, his brother, his home, his people. Nobody had ever seen the bright-eyed demigod this frail and broken before.

Hope and Scott helped the remaining Avengers haul more pillows and a couple mattresses to the commons room, then joined all of them in the pile.

Everyone went quiet as people started to doze off. They managed to get about five hours of sleep before Tony woke up, sobbing and screaming Peter's name.

* * *

Wong was heartbroken when Tony showed up at the Sanctum without Strange. He tried to hide it, of course, but Tony had spent so long crafting a mask, it was easy to spot someone else wearing the same one.

It took him five minutes of standing in front of the apartment door for him to work up the courage to knock. When no answer came, Tony forced the lock.

The TV was on, but displayed only static. A fallen teacup laid on the floor, surrounded by a dark spot where the tea had dried into the carpet. May Parker's dust swirled in the draught of the open door.

Tony called the authorities to notify them of another death, then shut the door behind him.

He closed his hand around the tiny bottle of dust in his pocket and hated himself for feeling relieved.

* * *

Every single memorial home in the country was booked for months in advance. Tony could have pulled some strings and freed up a spot, of course he could have. But skipping in line for a funeral went way too far, even for him.

They scattered Bucky's and Wanda's ashes, and buried Vision under a tree behind the compound. Tony knew he should have scattered Peter's ashes as well, but his hands shook so badly he couldn't unscrew the cap on the bottle. He didn't want to let go, so Peter stayed with him.

The service at Peter's school was long and emotional. Students, parents, grandparents, siblings, so many people had shown up and the auditorium still had empty seats.

Tony clenched the bottle in his left hand as a teacher helped him onto the podium. He shakily placed it next to the prepared speech that he wasn't going to use. As he looked out over the crowd that should have been twice as big, he suddenly felt more nervous than he ever had in his life.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He blew out an anxious breath, then spoke.

"There are... no words to express the grief that brings us here today," he said, and he immediately felt like he was copying Obama. "So many lives lost. Families and friendships shattered. And not just here. Not just in this school, or this city, or this country, or even this planet. Half of all life in the universe has died, in not only the biggest extinction event, but the biggest mass murder the universe has ever seen."

People murmured quietly. Children clung to their parents. Someone started crying hysterically.

"But this is about this school and its students." Tony continued. "And I want to talk to you today about one specific student who I have been mentoring for a while now, and... who I loved like my own son. His name was Peter Parker, though... Some of you might know him as Spider-man."

Gasps in the crowd. Quiet murmurs. A boy around Peter's age in the front row went pale as a sheet.

"I've known Peter for about two years now, and there are no words to describe the courage he had. This kid took on a man in a flying death machine wearing only a hoodie. This kid endured bullying on a daily basis, just to protect his identity. This kid told me that he became Spider-man because with the powers he had, he felt it was his responsibility to do something to stop the bad guys." He swallowed back tears. "This kid followed me into space on a ship belonging to a bigger enemy he'd ever faced, knowing full-well that it might end up being a one-way trip."

The auditorium was dead quiet. Tony's hand gripped the lectern as the wound on his side throbbed.

"I want to tell you that he went out peacefully," he said, barely holding back tears, "but he didn't. He died terrified, crying and begging me not to let him go, and I don't think I'll ever forget the look on his face when he realized that I couldn't save him."

Tony damn well nearly lost it right then and there. He bit his knuckle until he tasted copper, a single, tiny sob escaping his chest. He breathed deeply, forcing his tears down. Later. He could cry later.

"About ten years ago, Manhattan was invaded by aliens. In response, SHIELD gathered a group of remarkable people to fight a battle that they could never fight on their own. We became the Avengers. And while I know that disagreements and in-fighting rendered us practically non-existent, I think this has been our wake-up call. We have bigger things to worry about than our own petty squabbles."

And just like that, Tony was angry. He had never felt this type of anger before. This wasn't the quiet, helpless kind he'd felt in Afghanistan, or the unstoppable, all-consuming fury from Siberia. This was a clear, calm, white-hot _rage_.

"Right before that wormhole opened, I faced Loki, the bastard who wanted Earth in the first place. I told him that there was no way for him to win, that there wasn't a single reality out there where he'd succeed. And I told him that, if we couldn't protect the Earth, he could be damn well sure we'd avenge it." Tony's hand clenched around the bottle of ashes so tightly he almost felt the glass crack. "We failed to protect you from this. And I'm sorry. But I think that now is a very good time for us to start living up to our name."

* * *

Tony fastened the last buckle, then exhaled deeply. Steve sat next to him, sandwiched between him and Natasha.

He couldn't see Pepper through the window, but he knew she was there, in the compound with Rhodey, her belly swollen as their child continued to grow. It wouldn't be long now. Tony wished he could be there to hold little baby Morgan as they first arrived.

Now, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold them at all.

The countdown ended, and the ship took off. Rocket and Nebula fiddled with the controls as G-forces pressed Tony into his seat. From the corner of his eye, he saw Steve's knuckles turn white as the sky ahead slowly turned from blue to black.

They were on their way.

* * *

"Oh."

That was the first thing Thanos said when he saw the remaining Avengers, plus Scott, Hope, Rocket and Nebula standing in front of him. He planted his shovel in the dirt, looking back at the rag-tag group with confusion in his eyes.

"Where are the stones?" Steve asked, his voice cold.

Thanos raised an eyebrow. "Why do you need them? This universe is perfect now. There's no use for them anymore."

"Perfect?" Tony's helmet folded back, and Thanos nearly took a step back from the rage and pain and pure _hatred_ in his eyes. "You call this perfection?! You slaughtered half the universe, and you have the audacity to tell me you're _proud?!"_

"It was a necessary-"

"SHUT UP, YOU SICK BASTARD! A child died in my arms that day, you are NOT going to tell me that THAT was necessary!" Tony screamed.

Thanos was quiet. "The price for balance is high," he said after a long silence, "and we do not get a say in who pays it."

Tony nearly lunged right then and there, but a hand was planted on his chest before he could take a step. Steve stared him down, his gaze as cold as ice, and shook his head. Not now. Not yet.

Nebula stepped forward, her entire body taut and coiled as a spring. "Tell me," she said, "are you familiar with a race called the Zania?"

Thanos looked puzzled. "No," he said.

"I am. I saw them on their home planet. Or what is left of it," Nebula growled. "Not long before your slaughter, their planet was nearly sterilized by a solar flare. They used to have a population of five-hundred million. Only forty-six survived. They were on the brink of extinction, aided by an ally from a neighboring system, regrouping, rebuilding... Until twenty-three of them suddenly died. Eighteen of them child-bearers. Twelve of them pregnant. Now only two child-bearers remain. Their species will live for a few generations, before inbreeding and genetic defects will tear them apart. So, congratulations, father. You've doomed them completely."

Thanos looked unfazed.

"And that's not all," Natasha said, her voice full of ice and daggers. "How many people do you think you murdered indirectly? How many pilots suddenly vanished and doomed everyone on their planes? How many doctors died, leaving a patient to perish on the operating table? How many people died on the roads when half of all cars suddenly spun out of control? How many children starved to death in their cribs when their caretakers disappeared? Ever think about that?"

"I have," Thanos said. "It's a shame. But a necessity."

For a moment, nobody moved. Then, Steve spoke up.

"Get him."

* * *

The ensuing battle was brutal. Even without the Infinity Gauntlet, Thanos was more than capable of putting up a fight.

But the point wasn't to win.

Every single cell in his body screamed at him to beat that purple asshole into the dirt until there was no difference left between the two, but Tony didn't. Instead, he crept into the small shack, scanning for the stones.

Finding them was almost laughably easy. The gauntlet was just sitting there, on a small table next to a large bed. The bastard hadn't even bothered to bury it, or hide it, or fling it into the nearest black hole. He hadn't even taken the stones out.

Tony picked up the gauntlet. It was shot to hell six ways from Sunday, the golden plating charred and warped. Two of the fingers broke off as he shook it, and the Mind Stone fell out of its socket, clattering on the wooden floor.

Tony clenched his jaw. The nanobots that comprised his suit got the message as they crawled down his left arm. The glove got thicker and thicker, making room for six slots, one for each finger and one on the back of his hand.

Tony picked up the Mind Stone, feeling the power of it through the material of his suit. It fit perfectly into the slot in the center of his hand.

He picked the other stones out of the ruined gauntlet, fitting them into his own. The Power Stone nearly fried his entire suit when it rested in his right hand, only to calm down as it slotted into the socket on the knuckle of Tony's index finger. The Space Stone followed. Then Reality. Soul.

With every stone he clicked into place, he felt a power he couldn't describe thrum through his veins. His hair stood on end, his heart slammed against his ribcage like a trapped bird, and when he picked up the Time Stone, his hand shook so badly he nearly dropped it.

Just as he'd fumbled it into the right place, the entire front wall of the shack exploded inward. Tony just managed to get his helmet on before he got a face-full of splinters.

He hadn't even processed what just happened yet before a hand pinned him to the back wall. Thanos pressed down on him, the armor creaking under the pressure. Tony could barely breathe as he lifted his left hand.

Thanos screamed as metal buckled under his hand, digging into Tony's skin as he pressed his thumb and middle finger together.

Snap.

* * *

Tony opened his eyes to a sight he didn't recognize. It looked like Central Park, but the sky was burnt bright orange and it was quiet in a way New York had never been, even after half its citizens perished. His armor was gone, and so were the stones. He was alone.

"Hello, Tony."

Or not.

Tony whipped around to see a young woman standing on the path with him. She was black, with dreads that brushed her shoulders and a brightly colored top. She looked to be in her early twenties, but something in her eyes felt so ancient that just looking her in the face made Tony uneasy.

"Um..." He swallowed. "Who are you?"

The woman laughed. "Do you really not recognize me? Even like this, I thought you'd know me."

"Well, you wouldn't be the first. I mean, I've been loyal to Pepper but before we started dating I was kind of a-"

The woman held up her hand, and Tony's mouth snapped shut.

"We never had that kind of relationship, Tony," she said. "But you know me. Better than you think you do."

"You, ah... Mind elaborating on that?"

"Of course."

Her eyes closed, and when they opened, Tony couldn't look away from them. Stars and galaxies and nebulae, creatures beyond his wildest imagination, he saw them all. It was beautiful and horrible and terrifying all at once and too much, it was too much, it was way too much and he was screaming and crying and begging for her to stop.

And then she closed her eyes, and Tony stumbled back, feeling strangely empty. His vision swam as his brain tried desperately to deal with what it just saw.

"I... What?!" was his very intelligent first response.

The woman giggled. "You have such a way with words."

Tony shook his head and blinked hard. "What did you just do?"

"I showed you who I am. Everything you saw right there, that's me."

"...I don't follow."

She sighed. "Your universe, the part that you perceive as being everything, it's only a small part of it. I see all of it. I live outside your universe, I am your universe and so much more. I know that doesn't make sense, but your language just doesn't have the words I need."

"So what, you're like... God? The Christian God?"

She laughed at that. "No, I'm not, though some of your monotheistic religions do take inspiration from me. There's really no term in your language to describe me, though, I guess 'infinity' comes closest. But then again, that's like calling your Earth close to its star."

Tony had never felt this confused in his life. "Wait, so... What do the Infinity Stones have to do with you? Are you like... A projection or something?"

"No. I am not a manifestation of the stones, though they do allow me to interact with your world. They're like doors, if you will."

"Oooookay, let's maybe get to the point and ask what the hell this place is and what I'm doing here?"

The woman smiled sadly. "You're here because you are using a power that you cannot hope to control. I want to help you."

Tony could only stare at her in bewilderment.

"Tony, I love this universe," she said, her eyes big and sad. "I love watching it, grow and change, I love seeing you creatures mill about, building and destroying and just living your lives. I never planned on aiding Thanos, but I thought that him using the Infinity Stones was just how things were supposed to go. But... The amount of grief and sadness and anger that now fills the universe... I can't stand it. I want to help you fix it."

"Then help me," Tony said. "'Cause I really don't know how."

The woman moved closer to him, taking his hands in hers. "Right now, the Infinity Stones are a live wire, unguided energy, using your body as a conduit. I can focus it, make sure that it does what we want it to do."

"Bring everyone back. Safe and healthy."

"Yes. But also..." She chewed on her lip. "We need to destroy the stones. They've proven to be too powerful to be left intact."

Tony swallowed back the lump in his throat. "We need the Mind Stone," he said. "Vision-"

"Of course. And I imagine Stephen Strange would be angry if you came back without the Time Stone."

"...that too."

She smiled. "I'll leave the Mind and Time Stones intact. The rest will be destroyed as the universe is restored."

"Thank you..."

The woman took his hands and squeezed them lightly. "I have to warn you, this will come at a price," she said. "I will try to minimize the damage, but I cannot guarantee you'll live."

"That's okay," Tony said, looking at the burnt orange sky. "At least I'll go out with a bang."

"Of course," she said.

And then everything went white.

* * *

She was looking right into his soul. Every want, need, thought, all laid bare.

She picked out a few more demands, figuring she owed him that at least.

Those who had died on Titan would be re-born on Earth. The heroes would be sent home. And the Mad Titan would die like the untold masses he'd slaughtered.

She breathed out, letting the power of a billion trillion souls flow through a fragile human body, and watched as on every inhabited planet on every corner of the galaxy, dust began to swirl.

* * *

Just like that, it was over.

Steve stumbled, blinking hard as mud and blood were suddenly replaced by tiled floors. His shield firmly clamped into his hand, he looked around the compound in a daze. The others seemed to be in a similar state of confusion, not sure how to respond even as they all lowered their weapons and Scott and Hope grew back to normal size.

Until a cloud of dust swirled inside through an open door, growing thicker and thicker as it formed limbs and a torso and a head...

And Sam Wilson stumbled on unsteady legs, staring at the beaten and bloodied group in mute confusion.

Steve was the first to react, limping forward on a dislocated knee and grabbing Sam into a bone-crushing hug.

Tony stood to the side, swaying on his legs. He felt oddly light, off-kilter, and there was something wrong with his vision, but he felt a rush of happiness he hadn't felt in years. It had worked. It had actually worked!

The room exploded into ecstatic chaos, people laughing, cheering, hugging, celebrating in every way they could. Sam looked confused but elated as more dust flew in and formed the bodies of Wanda, Bucky, Peter (oh god, _Peter_ ) and the Guardians, who were immediately caught up in the celebrations. Natasha caught sight of Tony, a bright smile on her face.

It melted off in an instant, and she _screamed_. Loud, high-pitched, a sound that Tony had never expected someone like Natasha to make.

As if a switch had been flipped, everyone turned to look at Tony. Horror and fear and anger and disgust and emotions that Tony couldn't put a finger on filled the room. Mantis clung to Quill's sleeve, Steve gasped a very rude word, and Scott's face was practically green.

Peter just stared. Wide-eyed and horrified, hands over his mouth.

Tony looked down at himself. His only response was a quiet, horrified "oh."

Tony stared at the skin of his left side, charred and burned beyond recognition. He looked at his clothing, some of it still glowing, nearly fused to the giant open burn. He looked at the remains of his left arm, blackened like charcoal up to the shoulder, his hand and half of his lower arm completely gone.

He looked up and tried to say something, but at that exact moment his body remembered that it could feel pain.

It hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before. Worse than his torture and hazy surgery in Afghanistan, worse than feeling shrapnel worm its way into his heart when Stane tore his arc reactor out, worse than being stabbed through the abdomen by a crazy murderous alien, worse than every battle wound he'd ever gained combined and then some. Every single functional nerve in his body was burning, and he would have screamed if his brain hadn't taken one look at his pain levels and immediately hit the kill-switch on his consciousness.

Wanda caught him with a pillow of red energy before he hit the ground, but he'd been out before he'd even started to fall.

* * *

Floating.

Tony was laying on clouds, floating over an ocean. Pink clouds, soft as cotton, the water bluer than he thought was possible.

It was quiet. It was peaceful.

He had no idea how long he floated there. All he knew was that he never wanted this to end. He didn't need to think. He just had to be.

But eventually, he realized that that wish wouldn't come true. The clouds floated lower and lower, the water growing darker and darker, until he fell, plunged into the inky depths.

He tried to swim to the surface, but felt razor sharp claws wrap around his body, dragging him deeper. They dug into his sensitive flesh, ripped his skin like tissue paper as he screamed and screamed, exhaling air and inhaling water, coughing and whimpering as he desperately tried to breathe.

It hurt, it hurt so much.

"...consc.........morphine.............ox...n............"

The cloud was back, chasing the claws away and scooping him up. He was lifted out of the water and he could breathe again, floating on a cloud of morphine, high above a sea of pain.

He wished that things could be like that forever. He wished that whoever gave him these clouds would make them stay in the air, that he never had to leave.

But things never went the way he wanted them to go, so it was only a matter of time before he was plunged into the depths of pain again.

It kept going like that. Clouds and water. Falling and floating. Morphine and pain. Heaven and hell. Up and down, over and over.

It took him a while to notice that things slowly changed. The clouds didn't carry him as high or as long, but the claws weren't nearly as sharp, the water not as suffocating.

Noise began to filter through. Voices, speaking long sentences he couldn't comprehend. The slow, steady beeping of a heart monitor. The hiss of air flowing through tubes.

Right before the clouds dropped him in the water again, Tony opened his eyes to a white ceiling.

He stared at it blearily, his drugged and sleepy brain trying its best to put the pieces together. He felt wires on his body, tubes in his nose and mouth, and the heart monitor to his right beeped steadily.

And suddenly, there was a face.

It was a woman in a nurse's outfit, with brown eyes, light brown skin and pitch black hair, cropped to her chin. Those were pretty much all the features Tony could make out, as it didn't look like his vision was going to sharpen anytime soon.

He tried to talk, but all that came out of his throat was a small puff of air. She seemed to get the message anyway, as her eyes focused on his face. "It's alright," she said. "Go back to sleep."

Tony watched blearily as she injected a clear liquid into the IV on his right hand, her soft smile the last thing he saw before pink clouds whisked him away again.

* * *

It had been three weeks since their return when the news came.

Director Ross came to deliver it personally, even having the decency to look mournful in front of Pepper and Morgan. The two year-old didn't understand, of course, babbling confused nonsense and wiping at her mom's face when she burst into tears.

Tony Stark had passed away the night before. A nurse had failed to sterilize her clothes properly, and he had gotten an infection that his mangled body didn't have the strength to fight off. He'd died in his sleep, painlessly.

It felt like a punch in the gut. After the return of those they'd lost, everyone had been so convinced he'd pull through.

Wanda had dug up Vision's body against Steve's protests, and placed him in the lab with the Mind Stone for Tony to fix when he returned. She sat in the commons room, tucked in the corner of the couch, crushing a pillow against her chest as she cried silently.

Peter and May - who had moved in after discovering that their apartment had been sold after their deaths - constantly talked about what they'd do when he woke up, when he was well enough to come home, etcetera. Seeing the seventeen year-old cling to his aunt as he sobbed hysterically felt like someone stomping on the shards of Steve's already broken heart.

Bucky had wanted to make things right with Tony, to explain himself, to let him know that he never wanted to do what he did. He'd retreated to the gym, mangling punching bag after punching bag, knowing he'd never get the chance to tell Tony just how sorry he was.

Steve just sat there, in silence. Tears streamed down his face, but no noise escaped his throat. He just felt numb.

Rhodey, as broken-hearted as he was, volunteered to make the announcement, which Pepper quietly agreed to. It was short, as Rhodey had to go off-stage to break down as soon as he finished.

The Guardians quietly took off in the night. They'd wanted to wait around for Tony to return, but when they heard the news, they decided it was best to leave for Vormir to try and find their friend. Thor watched them go, noticing childish Quill and stoic Nebula crying in each other's arms before the hatch of their new ship - a Quinjet they'd dubbed  _Neutron_ \- closed. The communicator they'd left behind for emergencies stayed clipped to Thor's belt.

The next day, the gate to the compound was littered with flowers, candles, cards and stuffed animals. There was a minute of silence at the UN, SHIELD and most American institutions. The world mourned the loss of Iron Man, while the Avengers mourned the loss of Tony Stark.

The funeral was held with a closed casket. Pepper had wanted to see his body, but Ross had advised against it, claiming that it had been so mutilated that it would only taint her image of him. Steve - who had seen Tony's injuries first-hand - couldn't help but agree.

The service was long, and there wasn't a single person in the room who didn't cry.

The casket was taken back to the compound, and buried in a sunny patch of flowers next to the garage. The headstone was made of plastic, but FRIDAY had used a 3D-printer to make it herself and none of them were going to tell her no.

* * *

Morgan Petra Maria Virginia Stark was a big girl.

She was big enough to walk around by herself, so long as she didn't go into dangerous places. FRIDAY warned her every time she went somewhere she wasn't supposed to go, and she turned back every time. Mostly because if she didn't, FRIDAY would tell Mommy and she wouldn't get dessert. Even though FRIDAY was turned off for fixing today, she wouldn't risk it.

So she toddled around in the commons room, where Uncle Steve was reading a bunch of papers.

Morgan didn't understand this yet, but the Avengers' lives after their return consisted mostly of paperwork and worrying. Ross - who had been appointed Director of SHIELD in Nick Fury's absence and wasn't giving up the position after Fury's return - had wanted them arrested for the whole thing with the Accords, but public outcry prevented that. That didn't mean he was going to let them go so soon, so Steve was negotiating sanctions.

Morgan didn't know what the big words meant, but she did know that she didn't like Ross. He was big and scary, and made everyone upset when he came over. Morgan didn't like it when people were upset.

When Ross had told everyone that Daddy wasn't coming home, Morgan had been upset too.

She headed back into the hall, trying to find Peter. Morgan had made friends with him since he'd started living with them two months ago, and Peter knew how to have a fun time when Mommy and Uncle Steve were busy.

Morgan had just turned the corner when a crash came from the kitchen. She turned to the door and frowned. She wasn't scared, but she knew that she wasn't allowed in the kitchen without someone else with her.

But Morgan was smart, just like her Daddy. She was also very good at finding loopholes in the rules. If there was a crash, that meant there was someone in there, right? So she was allowed in!

Morgan stood on her tip-toes, turned the door-knob, and went in. Her eyes widened.

A man she vaguely remembered from Daddy's funeral laid crumpled against the cupboards, a hand pressed against his shoulder. He was wearing a cape that had wrapped itself around his leg and a blue shirt (or dress? It was longer than a shirt), and his black hair had grey streaks in it. His face was scrunched up like he was hurt, but he didn't have skinned knees like Morgan did when she fell off her bike. Instead, his clothes slowly began to get soaked with blood from the spot on his shoulder.

And he was looking right at her.

"Hey, Morgan," he said, trying to smile through gritted teeth. "This is really important. I need you to go get an adult for me. Okay? Can you do that?"

Morgan nodded, then headed back to the commons room as fast as her legs could carry her.

Uncle Steve was still there, and Morgan whacked at his knees until he looked at her.

"K'tchen-man has ow," she said, and Steve frowned.

"What do you mean, squirt?"

But Morgan had already toddled back to the hall, and was now looking at him expectantly.

Steve sighed, putting down his paperwork and following Stark's daughter into the hall. Honestly, any distraction was a good distraction at this point.

Morgan pointed at the kitchen door as she looked at him expectantly. He pushed it open, expecting to see Sam wrapping bandages around his finger again, but stopped dead in his tracks.

Because instead of that, he saw Stephen Strange staring back at him, gasping and trembling as he slowly bled out on the tiled floor.

In an instant, he was scooping the injured man up in his arms, feeling another brick drop in his stomach when he didn't even protest. Strange's face was pale as a sheet, and he was looking at a spot far in the distance.

"Morgan," Steve said. "Go get your Mommy right now and head to the med-bay. Tell her it's an emergency."

Morgan didn't know what "emergency" meant, but from the look on Mommy's face when she said it, she knew it couldn't be anything good.

* * *

 

"There's another wound on the left calf."

Bruce screamed and jumped at least three feet in the air when a translucent version of the man he'd just finished stitching up suddenly appeared out of thin air. His heart hammered in his chest, and it took every bit of his power to keep the Hulk at bay.

At least Strange had the decency to look apologetic.

"Sorry," he said, "I forgot you aren't used to astral projection..."

"It's... fine." Bruce gasped. "Just don't... Don't scare me like that."

"Right. But like I said, there's another wound on the left calf. It's a graze, but I believe it requires attention anyways."

Bruce shook his head to clear it, then shooed the sentient cape away to check his patient's left leg. Sure enough, the fabric of his pants had become soaked with blood, dripping from a gash on the back of the calf.

"O-okay," Bruce said, "there's an entrance and an exit wound, and it doesn't look like there's anything still in there. Hold on."

Strange's astral form sat cross-legged in mid-air, staring at his own unconscious body as Bruce stitched the wounds shut. He looked deep in thought, yet restless. It was unnerving.

"Done," Bruce said, fastening a bandage over his work. "So, how does this work? Do you go back into your body?"

Strange looked up from his almost meditative state. "No," he said, "not right now. You sedated me, so I won't wake up right away. Normally I would, but I have matters I need to discuss with all of you immediately."

"Your attacker? 'Cause you said that you deal with mystical threats, but I just pulled a bullet out of your shoulder."

"Attackers, plural. They caught me off guard."

"Can't you deal with them by yourself? Once you're recovered, at least?"

"I can't," Strange said, more serious than Bruce had ever seen him. "I was attacked by SHIELD."

* * *

 

Pepper bounced Morgan on one leg as she listened to Strange's story. The little girl had been frightened of the "ghost", but after some coaxing by Peter and Thor, she was willing to come into the commons room along with Rhodey, Steve, Natasha and Bruce.

Strange had been about to go get food when the door was knocked down. SHIELD-troops had invaded his home and started making demands. Strange had resisted, insisting that they had no right to search his house and that they had to leave, when they suddenly opened fire. It had caught him so off-guard that he'd gotten hit in the shoulder, just below the collarbone. He'd fled, another bullet striking his calf, and locked himself into the bathroom.

From there, he'd opened a portal to the compound, where he'd collapsed against the kitchen cupboards. He'd been gathering the courage to move when Morgan found him.

Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Any idea why they attacked you?"

"I do, actually," Strange said. "They were after the artifact around my neck. It's called the Eye of Agamotto, but what they wanted is what it contains."

"And that would be...?" Pepper asked impatiently.

"An Infinity Stone. The Time Stone, to be more specific."

The room went dead quiet.

"Bruce," Steve said, "could you go take that Eye-thing to the vault?"

"No! I'm the protector of the Time Stone, it stays with me!"

"You are currently completely unable to defend yourself, Strange, let alone the stone. You'll get it back once you've recovered."

Strange opened his mouth to protest further, but snapped it shut when he saw that Steve had a point. Bruce did his best to avoid looking him in the eye when he walked past.

"So, SHIELD wanted the Time Stone," Pepper said. "Why?"

"Because the power to toy with time itself is a very useful one," Strange said. "Here's a question I'm more interested in. How did they know I had it?"

Silence fell as people frowned.

Thor rubbed his growing beard. "Did you tell anyone? Show anyone?"

"No, of course not. I only showed Wong, and he's sworn himself to secrecy. Plus, he trusts SHIELD about as far as he can throw them."

"Did you do anything that could have led to a scanner picking it up?" Rhodey asked.

"No. The Stone itself only emits a signal when it's used, and I haven't used it since I got back from the dead."

"Who else knew that you had the Time Stone before the extinction event?" Natasha piped up.

"The Guardians of the Galaxy saw me use it. Then there's Peter, and Banner, and... Well, that's pretty much it."

"I didn't tell anyone," Peter said, raising his hands defensively.

"Neither did I," Bruce said, walking back into the room. "And the Guardians were trying their best to not get noticed by SHIELD, so it wasn't them either."

"So how'd they know...?" Steve muttered.

Strange fidgeted uncomfortably. "Tony Stark knew too," he said, and the temperature in the room suddenly dropped by ten degrees.

"Tony never woke up after you guys came back to Earth," Pepper said bitterly.

"Well, he must have at some point before he died," Strange sighed. "I can't think of any other explanation."

Natasha drummed her fingers against her chin. "That doesn't make sense either, though. Stark died three weeks ago, so that intel is at least three weeks old, if not older. We're talking about one of the most powerful objects in the known universe, in the hands of a civilian. Why wait that long?"

"Maybe they didn't know where Doctor Strange lived?" Peter guessed.

"If the guys at SHIELD have a name, they have a face. And Strange, I'm assuming you go outside every once in a while?"

"To get food, mostly," Strange said. "But I know there's security cameras at the deli place, and the people at Starbucks know my name. It's a safe neighborhood, I'm a powerful sorcerer, I've never had a reason to look over my shoulder."

"Exactly," Natasha said, jumping to her feet and starting to pace. "It couldn't have taken them a full three weeks to figure out, they're not stupid. And while they are swamped, I'd imagine this takes top priority. So why wait?"

It was silent for a long while. Morgan began rubbing her eyes and yawning, so Peter volunteered to take her to bed for her afternoon nap. Pepper slowly got up from her seat to make coffee, the subject of Tony still an open wound.

She had just handed everyone their own mug when Peter skidded back into the room, wide-eyed and panting. "I have a theory!" he blurted out.

"Your input would be most welcome, Man of Spiders," Thor said, dropping way too many sugar cubes into his cup.

"Okay, okay, this is pretty far-fetched but hear me out," Peter gasped. "What if that intel wasn't old? What if they got it off Mister Stark yesterday or something?"

Natasha cleared her throat. "Not to rain on your parade, Peter, but even SHIELD can't get intel out of a corpse."

"What if he's not dead though?! What if Ross lied?!"

Pepper sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Peter, I know you miss him," she said, "we all do. But this isn't helping. We have to try to move on, not... Continuing to deny it."

"But-"

"Pepper," Natasha said. "It's far-fetched, but we have to check. His grave is right here."

Pepper slowly stood up. "You are not going to dig up his grave," she snarled, her voice cold as ice. "He's gone. I'm not going to let you give me hope just to rip it away again, and I'm certainly not going to let you destroy a fucking grave in the process!"

Strange hovered over to her. "Miss Potts," he said, "you don't have to dig him up. I'm incorporeal in this form, I can check."

"I don't want you to! Just let me move on!"

Natasha sighed, standing up and placing a hand on Pepper's shoulder. "We have to make sure," she said quietly. "Strange won't damage the grave. Right, Strange?"

"I won't. I promise."

"Pepper, if he's alive - and I know that's a big 'if' - he needs our help. We just have to check. If you're right, and he is in there, we can drop the subject and move on. But if he's not..." And in that moment, the Black Widow-mask pulled back and Pepper looked into the eyes of a grieving, scared woman called Natasha Romanoff. "I can't live my life not knowing. And I don't think I'm the only one here who feels that way."

Pepper sighed, slumping over slightly. "Fine," she said, the fight drained from her voice. "Do it."

"Be right back," Strange said before floating right through a wall.

Peter walked over to Pepper, grabbing her into a hug and pressing his face into her shoulder. "M'sorry..." he muttered.

"For what?"

"You didn't want to... I shouldn't have..."

Pepper took his face in both hands, looking him right in the eye. "It's fine, Peter. Really."

Peter then proceeded to be scared shitless when Strange suddenly rocketed into the room, his face as ashen as it could get, what with it being transparent and all.

"Peter was right," he gasped. "That coffin's filled with sandbags."

* * *

"Careful."

Tony rolled his only remaining eye, but tried to keep his hand steadier. His nurse held her own hand under the fork as he slowly lifted it to his mouth.

It was the first time he'd been allowed solid food (well, as solid as buttered bread with the crusts cut off was anyway), and the nurse had tried to get him excited about this next step in his recovery. But he couldn't be. Not when every step towards recovery meant a step towards a cold prison cell instead of a semi-comfortable hospital room.

Then again, a diet of broth and IV-fluid really made him appreciate the taste of plain bread and butter.

Funny, how a shitty situation could make normal seem like a luxury. He was missing an arm, an eye and most of his hair, his skin looked like the world's most disgusting patchwork blanket (the surgeons had difficulty deciding which bits would heal and which needed to be replaced), the only two positions he could take were sitting up and laying down and he spent most of his time sleeping, but it felt incredible compared to what he felt like before.

He chewed as thoroughly as the brand-new skin on his face would allow, then swallowed and moved the fork back to the plate. The nurse smiled tiredly as she helped him spear another piece of bread.

Tony used to have three nurses, which was also how he kept track of the passing of the days. Nurse Crane - a stern old lady who wouldn't take any of his bullshit - came in on Monday through Wednesday, Nurse Walker - a middle-aged woman with the patience of a fucking saint  - on Thursdays and Fridays, and Nurse Dyer - a young woman fresh out of medical school who buzzed with nervous energy - on weekends.

But then Ross happened.

As soon as Tony was aware enough to have a somewhat intelligent conversation, Ross had come in and asked where the Infinity Stones were. Tony had told him they were all gone, but apparently a two-week coma and what felt like a gallon of morphine in his bloodstream didn't do wonders for his lying skills.

Ross had threatened him endlessly, but everything was foggy and Tony didn't feel like listening.

Until Ross had followed through on one of his threats and jammed his fingers in the empty socket of Tony's left shoulder.

It didn't hurt, the morphine made sure of that. But it felt so incredibly wrong, Tony was screaming and squirming all the same. He'd nearly tore his new skin open by the time Nurse Crane had pulled Ross off of him.

After that, all three nurses became protective as all hell whenever Ross entered the room. Crane manhandled him away from Tony every time he dared to step even an inch too close, Dyer angrily babbled about all the damage he could do and the setbacks he could cause, and Walker just stood between Ross and Tony's bed and silently glared at him until he left.

Tony hadn't even caved when Ross threatened to keep him locked up for good. Right then, he had never been more homesick, bumping even his time in Afghanistan down a spot. He needed to see Pepper. He needed to see his baby. He needed to see his team. He needed to see Peter. But he couldn't risk their safety either, let alone that of the whole world.

 

When Ross came in two days later, he carried a newspaper. A newspaper with the news of Tony's own death plastered all over the front page. Nurse Walker had to physically hold him down to keep him from tearing Ross's throat out, muscle atrophy and tissue-paper skin be damned.

Walker was locked up with him. Ross couldn't risk her telling everyone what really happened. Her supposed death was a suicide, brought on by self-blame for the non-existent infection that supposedly killed Tony.

As soon as Ross left, she locked herself in the bathroom and cried. When she came back out after a good thirty minutes, she sat down and told Tony about her own family. About her wife and daughter, who she'd never get to see again.

The look in her eyes made Tony want to do something, anything to comfort her, but the morphine made his brain sluggish and he wouldn't be able to move his arm for another week. All he could do was cry with her, and try to lean on her when she rested her hand on his pillow.

After they'd both calmed down, he asked her to call him Tony. She'd smiled, agreed, and told him to call her Clara.

Tony gave into Ross's demands when the man threatened to lock Pepper and Morgan up with him ("You must miss them tremendously. Of course, we can't risk them telling our secret to the world..."). The red hot, burning shame he felt when he stammered out Strange's home address was overwhelming. He could tell that Ross didn't believe him when he said that all but the Mind and Time Stones were gone, but he hoped to God this would be enough to deter him for now.

Tony dropped his fork with a curse. His hand was still too weak, and flopped back down to his side like a dead fish. He sighed, letting his head rest against the pillow.

"It's fine. You're already doing so much better than yesterday," Clara said, picking up the fork.

"I hate this."

"I know you do. I would too. Rehabilitation is slow, but you'll get there."

Tony turned his head to look at her. "Y'sure?"

"Yeah. It's all about determination, and you're just about the most stubborn person I've ever met. Open up."

With another eye-roll, Tony allowed her to stick another piece of bread in his mouth.

"This sucks," he said with a full mouth, spreading crumbs everywhere.

"Nobody said this would be fun, Tony," Clara sighed, wiping the crumbs off his sheets.

Something glowed in the corner of his eye. Tony was about to warn Clara that he was starting to hallucinate again, but the words died in his throat when she turned around, stared at the source of the light with wide eyes and dropped the fork.

"Tony?" Pepper gasped, and Tony felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. His head turned so fast he almost ripped his new skin open, and there she was. Standing in one of Doctor Strange's magic portals, hands clasped over her mouth.

 _"What?!"_ Clara shrieked.

Tony tried to say something, but found himself smothered by a head-full of bright red hair. Pepper rested her head on his shoulder, mindful of his injuries, a shuddering sigh making it past her lips.

It took tremendous effort and the skin on his back and shoulder protested loudly, but his arm wrapping around her neck in an awkward hug had never felt so right.

More people poured into the room, talking over one another as someone popped the brakes on his bed and wheeled him to the portal. Pepper started to cry as Strange made a series of complicated arm movements and widened the portal just far enough for the bed to fit through. Tony cried as well, listening to the squeaking of wheels, the relief in Clara's soft voice, and Strange's loud swearing as he doubled over and shouted at Banner about a stitch coming out.

Pepper's hair was brushed off his face and he was back in the compound, staring at his old prison from the other side of the portal. Strange managed to close it just as Ross barged in, pistol in hand and foam on his lips.

Tony laughed as tears streamed down his face. Pepper stroked his bald head, Thor was whooping and cheering and shouting for the others, Steve was grinning at him as he clasped his hand and even Wanda smiled brightly.

And then Peter was there, and Tony's world paused. The boy was sobbing as he pressed his face into Tony's chest, and Tony's arm went up and around him before he'd even registered what was going on. They both smiled through their tears, talking nonsense to each other, trying to assure themselves that this was real, this was happening, this wasn't some exceptionally nice dream.

FRIDAY had been brought back up and running, and Tony liked to think she sounded relieved and happy as she greeted him.

After that, everyone got lost in a flurry of rushed activity. Ross had seen where they'd gone, and was undoubtedly sending his people, so they had to move quick. Steve began to make calls while FRIDAY got a Quinjet ready, and Natasha wrangled everyone out of the room and ordered them to start packing.

Amidst all the chaos, Tony dozed off.

* * *

 Wakanda never stopped being stunning, no matter what happened to it. Too bad Tony wasn't awake to see the overcrowded Quinjet fly through the illusion of a mountain and into a sprawling city. Steve was pretty sure he'd orgasm on the spot.

After everyone returned from the dead, King T'Challa had taken the throne back in the shortest ritual battle in Wakandan history. Ex-queen Shuri had thrown her weapons down and surrendered before he even had the chance to take a step towards her.

"Another broken white boy I need to fix?" said woman snarked as Nurse Walker and Bruce pushed Tony's bed out of the Quinjet. "I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose, Captain!"

Steve chuckled lightly as T'Challa rolled his eyes and elbowed her. "He's already been fixed," he said. "He just needs a safe place to recover, but the director of SHIELD is after him, meaning we can't keep him at the compound. This was the safest place we could think of. SHIELD's influence doesn't stretch to Wakanda, and the US isn't going to start a war with you."

"Because you'd lose?" Shuri giggled.

"Because we would be starting a needless war with a nation that hasn't wronged us in any way, shape or form," Steve said, walking away to help Peter and Natasha unload their luggage.

"And 'cause we'd lose," he added quietly, but apparently loud enough for Shuri's ears. Her laughter followed him all the way inside the palace.

* * *

Tony's first reaction to waking up in the Wakandan med-bay was to ask if he could have one of these mattresses for at home. He claimed they were so much more comfortable than any others he'd owned, and that he just couldn't go back to regular ones after feeling this. Princess Shuri had grinned and told him that nothing in her space was for sale.

His second reaction was to sob like a baby as reality sunk in. He was free. No more Ross, no more questions, no more prisons. He'd finally be able to see his family again.

Shuri had sent word to the team that he'd woken up, and subsequently had to chase them all out of the med-bay, shouting at them to come in groups of two only.

Steve had beamed and gently patted Tony's shoulder, and the sheer relief in his voice when he told Tony how much he'd missed him was overwhelming. Peter was hesitant to touch him at first, a little embarrassed at his reaction in the compound, but Tony had practically ordered him to get down there and hug him. Even more tears were shed as they talked, and Peter waved at him sadly as Steve ushered him out when their time was up.

Rhodey wasn't a cuddly person, so he walked around the room aimlessly as he talked about everything Tony had missed since their departure from Earth two years ago. Wanda did the opposite of that. She didn't say a word, but held his hand in a soft grip that Tony surprisingly didn't mind, drawing patterns with her thumb.

Bruce and Strange were next, and that conversation was a lot more uncomfortable. They were both glad Tony was alive and safe, of course, but Strange was understandably pissed about the fact that his left arm was currently in a sling and he had to talk his own cloak into carrying him every time he had to move. Tony had explained his reasoning, but Strange didn't look any less grouchy when he left. Then again, grouchy was pretty much his default state.

Bucky Barnes came in by himself, looking like he was about to run for the hills. Tony felt a spike of something cold in his chest, but he didn't make a move when Bucky sat down and started quietly talking. He talked about his life with HYDRA, the hell he'd been put through, the emotionless shell of a man he had become well before he ended the life of Howard and Maria Stark. Tony listened, and understood. They cried together, and when it was time for Bucky to leave, the cold in Tony's chest had melted away a little.

Natasha was happy to see him, but most of her time was spent trying to keep Thor from damaging something in his excitement. The demigod was bouncing around like an excited puppy, without any consideration for Shuri's equipment. That was why Tony was so surprised when Thor gently took his hand in his own, cradling it like it was a baby bird that fell out of its nest.

Tony was just about to fall asleep when Pepper came in with a little girl balanced on her hip.

Morgan was frightened at first (Tony couldn't blame her, he looked fucking awful), but after some gentle words from Pepper, she agreed to sit on the edge of Tony's bed. Tony ran his fingers through brown curls that reminded him of his own and talked to her in a hushed tone, promising her to be a better dad than Howard had ever been.

They ended up falling asleep together, Morgan's head resting on Tony's chest as she drooled on his gown, his hand tangled in her hair.

* * *

Recovery was slow, but it didn't feel as awful when it was Pepper sticking food in his mouth or Rhodey talking to him as he slowly slipped into a drug-induced sleep or Peter helping the Wakandan nurses move his stiff body in different positions. His first trip in a wheelchair wasn't a disaster either, which was surprising considering Thor had insisted on pushing it.

Seeing as he was in good hands, Clara had left to go back to her own family. Natasha and Clint had gone with her, to protect her from Ross's goons. Tony promised her he'd stay in touch, and made a mental note to look her up when they got back home. Paying off bills and her kid's future student debt was the least he could do.

Morgan was practically glued to his side every time she came in, talking his ear off with an endless stream of barely coherent nonsensical babble. Tony listened with a focus he had barely ever shown before, and added in his own commentary here and there. Even while bedridden, being a dad was so much better than he'd expected.

About three days after Clara left, they'd decided that Ross had been running in circles for long enough now. After some debate about the way it would be made public, they decided a statement with a video would be best.

Steve sat down on the foot-end of Tony's bed with a laptop in his lap and Natasha's voice coming through the speakers. Together, they churned out a statement for the UN and another for the public, only pausing once when Tony's body decided it was nap-time.

Peter made the video, which took five different takes because they kept laughing too much. It was short, and basically consisted of Tony listing off some recent events to verify the date, describing his imprisonment, and ending with a weak, shaky middle finger to Ross.

When Peter showed him the end-result, his eyes widened.

He looked... better. Still awful, mind you, but way better than before. His new skin had gone from red and veiny to a healthy, pink-ish color, and his milder burns had completely healed. Even the big burns looked better, the skin no longer raw but scabbed, with scarring around the edges. Some of his hair had started to grow back, little tufts of brown resting against his bald scalp.

"Is it... Is it okay like this, Mr. Stark? Tony, I mean." Peter stammered.

Tony's mouth twisted into a lopsided smile, and he ignored how the muscles in his arm protested as he ruffled the kid's hair.

"It's perfect."


End file.
